


The Colour Purple {Winter Jasmine}

by fictionmeister



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Death, M/M, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Time Shenanigans, Tragedy, weird timeline shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-02-19 07:59:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 15,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2380805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionmeister/pseuds/fictionmeister
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>UNFINISHED AND ABANDONED.<br/>Purple was the exotic colour of his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dead

Gilbert trudged absentmindedly along the well-worn track, thinking of the colour purple. Running used to be his passion; he would work out every day, relishing the burn in his thighs and the strain on his weak lungs. But when that rich, unique colour fled from his life, the rest of the rainbow decided to flee as well, and he didn't feel like running anymore.

He meandered on the dirt path, listening to his music on shuffle. It was on full volume, as though drowning the sounds of the outside world would help. He came across the pond and stared at the ducks. They reminded him of a pet bird he had, once, when he was a child. It died. Like everything else in his life.  
All dead.  
Those beautiful, mysterious, deep purple eyes gazing at him with such affection, with love reserved only for him. Gone.  
He hadn't realized he was standing at the edge of the pond until he saw his sullen expression reflected back at him. It took even longer to realize he wasn't standing anymore. He was on his knees, with his face in his hands, salty tears sliding trough his fingers.  _Awesome people don't cry_ , he told himself. But what if the color was the awesomeness?  
It was gone. Dead.  
Cold and dry, rotting.

He tried to stand up, but found that he couldn't. He was shaking. He collapsed. At the pinnacle of his struggle, as if on cue, the song on his IPod switched, to none other than...  
_Damn you, shuffle_! It was a Chopin song. One of those nocturnes. Gilbert never bothered learning the name of it; maybe he should. It was Roderich's favorite, after all.  
Purple. Unique. His.  
He remembered when Roderich couldn't sleep; he would go downstairs to the piano room and softly pluck random notes. He would drag his fingers absentmindedly across the ivory of his grand piano, and eventually this tune would be coaxed from his slim fingers, this wonderful, lilting melody, and he would come back and fall into a calm, satisfied sleep.

But Gilbert remembered the night that no amount of piano playing could have soothed his lovely Roderich. Not that he would have had time to play a single note from that one moment to the next. He did not slowly drift into his eternally peaceful rest surrounded by loved ones, or even next to his piano. No, he was ripped violently from his life by some imbecile on the side of the street. He deserved death, whoever he was. An idiot with a gun.  
Wait, scratch that. Nobody deserves death. Least of all Roderich...

He was shaking violently now, the tears coming full force. Why did this have to happen?

* * *

 

 _Where is he?!_  Ludwig thought, not for the first time and certainly not for the last. He turned towards his equally frustrated, yet surprisingly passive search partner. He had happened to bump into Ivan, who had immediately demanded to know what was wrong. When Ivan found out that Ludwig's grieving brother had ran out of the house with no explanation, he was worried as well. Ivan had gone through all of high school with a hopeless crush, and though Roderich, the man who was now dead, had been chosen over him, he still cared for Gilbert and did not wish to see him get hurt. In the state of mind that Gilbert was currently in, he could do something reckless. They all knew.

Ivan looked into Ludwig's eyes and found emotions mirroring his own. They trudged along in silence, glancing around, their normally stoic features becoming more frantic by the second.

They found Gilbert on his knees, staring intently into the pond. His figure was slumped over, defeated. Ivan was the first to rush forward and embrace the man.

All at once, Gilbert was enveloped by something strong and warm. It lifted him up to his feet, and a firm grip enveloped him in a tight embrace. He opened his bloodshot eyes, but everything was blurry. He did see one thing though; that blessed, yet godforsaken color again.

Purple.

The man's eyes were purple, and he couldn't stand it, for he was not Roderich. What is the meaning of this? But it was not _his_ purple, the deep, meaningful color he longed to gaze into once more. This violet was light, thin, like it was diluted. It was cold and unseeing. It wasn't right. Who would dare turn his beautiful color into such a dull monstrosity? Ivan, of course. He had no grudge against him, but at the moment, he was the last person he wanted to see. Ivan picked up his fragile form, letting Gilbert lean on him.

"Let's get you home, Da?" Stupid, stupid.  
He had no home. Yes, he had a house; it was a roof over his head. But it did not feel like home. Roderich felt like home. And he hated that voice, so thin and sickeningly sweet. It was childish, when the one he wished for was mature. It was smooth and flat, when the one he wished for always seemed to sing, though on the verge of cracking. Ivan was a mockery.

Another voice cut in, a deeper, but still familiarly soothing one. He knew it would not be any kind of purple. He looked up into the icy blue eyes of his brother, and almost felt ashamed being caught crying. But he let himself be comforted by Ludwig's strong arms. He relished the feeling of his hair being gently stroked, but then felt a pang of guilt in his chest. He was the older one; he should have been staying strong and comforting  _his_  little brother. He could never do enough.

"Ivan, please leave us," said Ludwig sternly, but softly. The tall man nodded in solemn understanding, and turned on his heel, scarf billowing behind him. He cast one last worried glance at the brothers before walking away completely. Ludwig turned to his sobbing brother once more.  
"It's going to be alright." Gilbert looked up at him incredulously. He had come to despise those same words that everyone was repeating to him; they didn't mean anything, because it was not alright, and Ludwig knew that.

"Do you really believe that?" he asked his little brother.

"No."

Gilbert blinked in surprise. Well, at least he was being honest.

"No, I don't. But... just, stay strong Gilbert."

He doesn't realize... how hard it is.

"Ludwig..."

"Hm?"

"Please... try to understand" His voice cracked on the last word. "A part of me... has been ripped away."

Ludwig looked at his brother carefully under a stern gaze.

And he tried to understand. A face flashed before his eyes, and though Ludwig sometimes wished it was not so, he loved this face. A pang of empathy resonated through his chest at the thought of losing this person. Before, he had been sad at the death of his friend, and worried about what his brother would do in response to the loss of his love, but never having lost someone that close to him, he could only sympathize. The fact hit him that it might take a lot longer than he had previously thought for Gilbert to get better. But Ludwig wouldn't cry; someone had to be strong.

"Let's just...go home," says the elder, voice shaking from his tears, and from those gathering in the corners of his speechless little brother's eyes. Ludwig nodded, wiping away the traces of his emotions. He rose, holding out a hand to his older brother.

"Yes. Let's."


	2. Reminisce

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gilbert takes a walk.  
> Also, as a side note: there's honestly no good reason that they live in Los Angeles other than the fact that I do, so it's easier to write. The Observatory is this science-y ass building at the top of a mountain, and the mountains (plus the surrounding area) are part of Griffith Park, which has a shit ton of hiking trails, a few of which lead up to the Observatory-- you know, in case you're a nerd AND you like to exercise. It's very common to find dead bodies all over the park. It's really the only part of the city that still has trees. And dirt. Also, it uh, isn't very cold during the winter.

Gilbert had always hated the winter.  
No, wait, that wasn't particularly true. He had never preferred any season over another, and he had never had a reason to dislike one. But now, it felt to him as though he always had, because it just seemed right to hate the cold and the death of all colours during winter. Especially purple.

So, when his brother came to his house and demanded he get some fresh air in the form of a hike, he was not very happy. He would rather stay home and eat chips pathetically, but Ludwig reasoned,  
"You haven't done anything for months! The last time you went jogging was October." And we all know what happened that time.

As they trudged up the dry, dusty steep path to the Los Angeles Observatory, Gilbert found himself thinking more than usual. Lately, he had been trying to shut out all of his thoughts with petty distractions, because thinking too much caused him pain. He thought about Roderich, the love of his life... that was now dead.  _Wait, no, don't think about that part._ Just... him. His lilting voice and easy words, the way he moved, the way a rare smile would grace his soft lips. Gilbert remembered it all. He didn't want to forget. And he wanted it back. It was all gone.

"Bruder, why did you stop?"  
He said nothing while he got up and wiped the tears from his eyes. He tried to think about other things, like his family. His brother was the only family he had left to support him. He remembered his parents. He had never liked them. When he was young, his parents had hated him because he was born albino. They thought he was shameful, a defective child, and hid his existence from the rest of the world. There were still stuck in the old days, with ideas of a perfect "master race". Blonde, well-built, blue eyes. Despite all the damage the war had done to the world, and to their country, and the fact that both their fathers had been killed in battle, they still held on to what they could of their past, for it was all they knew.

So two years later, when Ludwig was born, perfect, beautiful,  _Aryan_  Ludwig, his parents were absolutely thrilled. They boasted about their beautiful little golden haired baby to all of their neighbors, and said that by the bright look in his clear blue eyes, they knew he would be an intelligent young child. And he was. They always gave him what he wanted, lavishing all their attention on him while completely ignoring Gilbert, who had weak lungs and was probably too frail to become a soldier. Despite all this, he learned to love and care for his baby brother as well, instead of being jealous.

Gilbert clearly remembers the moment in his past when he was truly saved from his parent's neglect. It was a night like many others; in trying to keep his brother occupied, he had accidentally made the baby cry. He had never been good with children anyway. His father grabbed him by the collar and roughly threw him out into the night. He landed on his arm, scraping his elbow on the jagged concrete.  _Schändlich!_  Cried his mother.  _Ungnade!_  The door was slammed in his face. But he was used to this treatment by now, and he knew that trying to get back in was absolutely not an option. He took a moment to regain his breath, and forced himself not to cry. To cry was to admit defeat, to show weakness. When he was sure he was ready, he opened his eyes and looked out at the dark street. The sun had already set a long time ago, but the streetlamps were not on. The automatic timer had not been updated since daylight savings time had changed. He already knew where he was going to go. He began walking to the small, abandoned park down the street. There were not many children in the neighborhood, except for him and another girl, Elizaveta, but she had moved back to Hungary last year.

The park was filled with broken swing sets, rotting plastic slides, muddy sand, and overgrown grass and weeds. He went straight across the wreckage to his usual hiding place. There he knew nobody would find him, and he could camp out until morning then sneak back into the house. It was behind a thick, unkempt bush, inside a large concrete pipe that was connected to the surrounding forest, used to drain rainwater. He pushed the bushes aside and squeezed his thin body into the narrow space. He grabbed the blanket that was already there, which he had brought over for times like this, and prepared to settle for the night.

Just then, he heard a rustling in the bushes. Alarmed, he withdrew further in, pressing his back against the metal wire gate that separated him from the forest. Throwing the blanket over his head, he thought,  _who could have followed me here?_  More rustling and he saw a beam of light through the thin material.

"Hey, boy, what are you doing shivering down here?" The voice was a soft and kind while still low in tone and slightly rough from age. It seemed to soothe Gilbert's nerves, and, still circumspect, he slowly pulled the cover down so he could look at the man. He had a wrinkled face, but it was kind and soft like his voice and his bright blue eyes, which contrasted with his shock of gray hair. Though he was old, he also seemed fit.

"Do you have a place to stay for the night? Or are you staying here?" Gilbert just shook his head. The man sighed. "You poor thing. You must be that Beilschmidt child. Can't be anyone else, not with those eyes." Gilbert was shocked.

"How do you know my name?" he asked weakly, his rough voice grating in his own ears.  _Why am I talking to strangers?_  He asked himself.

"My name is Frederick, but you just call me Fritz. Your first name is... Gilbert, right?" The boy nodded shakily. "You can stay over at my place tonight."

And he eventually did, that night. He was seven years of age at the time, and old Fritz became the parent he never had.

Ludwig sighed loudly, snapping his older brother out of his memories and into harsh reality. They continued up the path.

"The leaves are so pretty this time of year, huh?" commented the blonde. "They're almost finished changing colors." Crimson eyes scanned the ground before them, and then glanced up into the foliage that was once dense, but now sparse.  
"No, it isn't," he croaked. "It's all dead, and brown."

The silence became suffocating.

They continued up the dirt path. Ludwig felt as though the awkwardness were tangible. Gilbert just thought...

He remembered the little yellow bird that died when he was young. He had named it Gilbird. It was his very first pet, and he loved that little thing, with its soft fluffy feathers and its adorable little 'piyo'! He would even talk to it, every day, and it would hop around and chirp in response. He never figured out what kind of bird it was, since it died when it was a baby. Was it a little chick? A canary, perhaps? Maybe even a Yellow Warbler? Whatever the case, it was his best friend when he had none at school, and so when it died of a severe eye infection, he buried the poor thing. He wrapped it up in a bit of cheesecloth and lowered it in a hole in the garden. He left a stone marker next to it as well. His parents sneered at this, but miraculously, they allowed it. They had more important things to worry about, like what private school to send Ludwig to, and what Gilbert's home school was.

The next spring, he looked out into the garden, and a little purple flower was growing where he had buried Gilbird. He really didn't know what kind of flower, and he never bothered to find out, but it was very pretty, in his opinion. He decided to water and take care of it, and he grew to love the soft, violet buds that would open to reveal little star-shaped flowers, clustered on branches. Eventually, it spread and grew into a series of bushes.

Then came high school. He and Ludwig ended up in the same school for a couple of years, because his parents thought the least Gilbert could do was scare away the bullies with his appearance. In reality, though, it was the other way around. They always called Gilbert a demon, a ghost, a changeling, peculiar, odd. Ludwig would hold him while he cried at home, too. Gilbert had always felt awful for being the older one and not being able to protect his baby brother, and that's when he started the "awesome" façade. He would seem confident; he would glow with pride. He would always laugh along with the crowd, and never at his expense. But it was all just a mask. Inside, he was still broken. But those were the years in which his life changed. It was also the year he met Roderich.

He was fascinated right away by his eyes, and he would never tire of losing himself in those beautiful, deep purple orbs, his most striking feature, even years later. They were the same color as the flowers in the backyard garden. For Valentine's Day of their senior year, Gilbert had anonymously sent a bouquet of white lilies, red roses... and the purple flowers. They came together nicely, he thought. And Roderich was delighted. He soon traced down whom it was from, and when he found out it was Gilbert, he was relieved. His love wasn't unrequited.

Gilbert wished he could still delight Roderich, relieve his worries, soothe his thoughts, but he couldn't. Not anymore. All the color was drained out of the world. So what was left?

Gilbert looked to his left. It was steep, it was a long way down. It looked deadly. There was nothing left, anyway.

"Gilbert, where are you-?" He felt cold, empty. Hopeless and lost. At the very least, he might join the people he had lost.

"GILBERT!" He loved this falling sensation. He wondered how it would sound when he hit the bottom. The wind whipped his hair around his ears, and branches snagged at his clothes, but they couldn't stop his fall.

"GILBERT, PLEASE!" Fritz was dead. Gilbird was dead. Elizaveta was dead. Roderich... was dead.

His brother's voice, as if from a distance.

His brother.

His brother, Ludwig.

His brother!

_What am I doing?_

It was like waking up from a dream; where before, a thick, heavy haze had obscured everything, the fog suddenly lifted, and he saw his purpose. He frantically reached out and grabbed at a branch, trying to slow, if not stop, his fall.

The branch broke away in his hands.

He grabbed at the stony face of the cliff, trying desperately to stop.

And he did. At the bottom.

The last thing he heard was sirens in the distance.


	3. Again

_Voices murmured in his brain as he internally wandered the Camelot of his hypnopomic state. He had taken a birl with life, gambled at its fragile fabric, and it had left his heart algid. A strong glow beckons him from the intermerate peace of unconsciousness, inviting him into harsh reality of pain and sorrow, depression, trials and tribulations. But for now he will stay, to listen to the allocution that fills his head; one of faith, and of longing. For the first time in many a month, he felt something other than pain_ _—_ _a sprig of fresh hope. He knew instinctively that there was something colourful to live for, though it was not purple. This was golden as the sun and blue as the clear sky on a summer day; the colour of sapphires, yet as precious as diamonds. Yare as a fox, and yet solid as an oak; his own flesh and blood._

_He was supposed to be protecting him, was he not? Was it not his duty? Instead, he had let himself be lost in the throes of despair. And he had tried to end it. The realization hit him harder than the cold, foreboding ground had. But wait_ _-_ _why was he not dead? Alternatively, was he, and he did not know it?_

_Somehow, though, it did not matter anymore. It was peaceful here – not that he knew where "here" was. Yet, it did not trouble him. His eyes were closed, tightly shut, but he could still see everything. There was light around him; it was bright, too bright to look at, but it did not hurt his eyes. His body, or what was left of it, felt hot all over, burning; yet he did not feel the pain any mortal would have. He was icy cold, his fingers numb, yet he did not feel the algid bite as one would imagine. The air was pure, too pure for his tired lungs, used to the city smog_ _, a_ _nd yet he felt no struggle in his ribcage. In fact, there was too little struggle there. The atmosphere was calm, peaceful. The silence was suffocating, hallowed, and yet it was filled with the cacophony of a thousand shouts. He felt an immense pressure everywhere, and almost feared that he might burst, but it was comforting. He tried to look around him, but his head could not move. Still, the intense stillness was reassuring._

_Through it all, he felt as though there were a presence watching over him, guarding him. It felt familiar, but he could not place it_ _—_ _memory did not seem to work the same way in this realm. He struggled to try to twist his head around, but in vain. Panic began to bubble up in his chest_ _—_ _his breath quickened. He tried opening his eyes_ _—_ _no luck. Where was he? It was calm, peaceful, yes; but what was he doing here?_

_"Calm down Gil_ _bert_ _, you'll be alright. Don't hurt yourself; you've done enough of that already."_

_Gilbert gasped softly at the voice. He pushed against whatever was holding him down, trying desperately to move closer to the speaker, to see him, to touch him_ _—_

" _Here, let me help you with that."_

_Light, zephyrean fingers caressed his eyelids, and they slid open to reveal the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It was violescent, soft, glowing. Roderich looked healthy, his dark hair falling in soft waves across his forehead, save for the single piece that always went astray. His eyes sparkled; his perfect lips gently curved up into a peaceful smile, accented by the beauty mark at the corner of his mouth. Oh, how Gilbert longed to kiss him one last time. But was it all real? Could it be? It seemed likely, though_ _—_ _he was dead, yes? And so was he. Or... was he?_

" _Yes, you are. But they're trying to bring you back." He sighed solemnly. "Do you want to go back?" Roderich gently touches Gilbert's lips, then trails his fingers all the way down to his collarbone. Gilbert felt his throat loosen, and he was able to speak._

" _I-I...I..." He stuttered, voice cracking. "Rod... Roderich?" He whispered tentatively._

" _Yes, darling, it is me." A smile graced his lips once more._

" _I...I've missed you." He stated simply, staring lovingly into his dead lover's deep violet orbs. Roderich sighed again, but he was smiling this time._

" _So have I." He caressed Gilbert's body lightly, drawing lazy patterns on his bare skin. He leant forward, placing his head on his lover's chest. "So have I."_ _Gilbert's eyes closed again, tight a_ _t the sudden_ _feeling of human_ _warmth on his bo_ _dy. The touch loosened his muscles, and movement returned_ _. He carefully place_ _d_ _his arms around Roderich, reveling in his presence. Then,_

" _What now, Roddy?"_

" _Hm?"_

" _You said... they were trying to bring me back..."_

" _Ah, yes... we do not have much time_ _—_ _"_

" _What_ _—_ _"_

" _So I must tell you now..." he stopped, then cleared his throat. He sighed, and then started again. "Let me give you some advice." Gilbert was listening tentatively, leaning closer to his love's lips._

" _I have been watching you, all this time. And Gilbert, you need to stop. I know my death came as a shock to you, but think about how your behavior is affecting other people. I may sound harsh, but..." he trailed off, fixating on a point in the distance. "I'm in a better place. And it pains me to see you like this..." he shuddered. "To think that you tried to take your own life..."_

" _I'm sorry, Roderich... I truly am. It's just..." He sig_ _hed_ _again. There seem_ _ed_ _to be a lot of sighing going on. "I just couldn't imagine life without you."_

_Roderich looked up into Gilbert's face, and purple locked with crimson._

" _Gilbert... just know, that I will always be there. In your darkest hour, in your deepest despair, I will be standing by you. Through your trials and your tribulations... your doubts, your frustrations." He smiled and nuzzled himself further into Gilbert's chest. "Even in your violence, your turbulence... all through your fear and your confessions. In your anguish, in your pain." He look_ _ed_ _up at him again, eyes wet. He continues in a whisper, "Through your joy, and your sorrow..."_

_Gilbert suddenly felt an odd tingle, like a bolt of electricity, starting in his chest, then spreading outward, until it reached his toes and fingertips. He tried to ignore it. It did not feel like a part of the world he was currently in, his perfect little bubble; no, it felt like it was coming from the outside. He held on to his dead lover even tighter._

" _In the promise of a better tomorrow," Roderich finished. The albino felt the odd tingle again, but stronger this time. The light began to fade. Roderich planted a kiss on his lips and said, "We will never truly part... let me linger always in your heart."_ _As Roderich gently faded away, the stillness of this world began to give way to the agonized thrashing of a thousand limbs; the silence shattered, and unearthly screams began pouring out, flooding his mind, permeating it with Panic. Then it all erupted, and he was suddenly thrust back into Chaos._

He awoke with a violent jolt, as a sharp, searing pain wormed its way through his chest, into his back, all the way to his extremities. The same sensation he had had before, yet a million times more potent, more real, more excruciatingly clear. His eyes snapped open, and a harsh, white light came pouring through, burning his retinas. He gasped, the air in his lungs feeling foreign, as if it were his first breath after a million years. He felt warm, alive, and no longer in the odd dreamlike state of before. The next sense he seemed to regain was his smell and taste, though his hearing was still muffled. He tasted something rubbery, and his mouth felt dry; a metallic tingle lingered on his tongue. He smelled blood, as well as something sterile, sophisticated.

Then, the sound waves hit his ears like the crashing of a marching band, the voices and shouts of several people, coming from all directions. Hurried footsteps, shuffling to and fro all about him, and a quiet beeping sound emanating from directly behind his head. A face came into focus, just above him— he did not recognize it, and a blue mask covered it halfway. His hearing was beginning to fade again, his vision blurring, and whereas he had awoken with adrenaline rushing through his newly awakened veins, his limbs felt heavy, and his eyelids drooped quickly. The last thing he heard before blacking out was a faint cry that sounded disturbingly familiar.

" _Bruder!"_


	4. Return

"I'm his brother, _gott verdammt_ , let me through!"

"Sir, your brother is in a critical condition—"

"I don't care, that's why I have to see him!"

Just then, a nervous looking nurse rushed towards them.

"Doctor, he's waking up," he said urgently. The doctor turned to Ludwig.

"If you could excuse me for a moment." With that, he briskly turned and walked into the hallway. Ludwig tried to follow, but the nurse held him back.

"GILBERT!" he shouted down the hall. The nurse gently led him back into the waiting room, and once he was seated, he turned to walk away. He then hesitated for a moment, and looked back at the blonde.

"He... your brother," he started, then gathered himself. "You care about him a lot."

It wasn't a question. Ludwig nodded.

"Very much so." The nurse began walking away, then hesitated again and looked back. He made a small gesture for Ludwig to follow. He immediately stood up and walked purposefully with him, thanking him quietly. The man nodded in understanding.

"I- ah, I have a brother too. Two, actually. Foster brothers." Understanding passed between Ludwig and the nervous brown haired man.

The hallway seemed to stretch on forever. When they finally arrived at the room, Ludwig steeled himself and opened the door. They were met with the sight of Gilbert, looking pale, distraught, and bedraggled, but alive. Bandages covered most of his head, blood already soaking through. They were in stark contrast to the bleached white of the bandages, as were his eyes to his unusually pale face.

"Wha... Rod...er...ich..." he mumbled. "Don't... leave me..." Ludwig felt a pang in his chest. He had heard the doctors saying that he had died, but he still had a chance. So, they had revived him, but... he had been... dead, for a while. What had he seen?

Just then, Gilbert's eyes lit up.

"L-Ludwig!"

The doctor spun around, looked from Ludwig to the brown haired nurse, and glared at the latter, though he was a bit forced to accept it when Ludwig came running to his brother's side. They both began babbling at once.

"Ludwig, _oh Ludwig_ , I'm _so_ sorry, I'm sorry Ludwig, oh _god_..."

"Gilbert, you're okay, _you're okay_ dammit, don't you _ever_ do that again, _schisse_ , Gil..."

"I won't Ludwig, dammit, you freaking know it, because you're my bro, and I... I have to protect you!"

"No Gilbert, _I_ wasn't protecting _you_ , I'm _so_ sorry Gilbert..."

Tears were streaming down both of their faces, and when their babbling and crying finally subsided, Gilbert looked embarrassed.

"Awesome people shouldn't cry," he mumbled. Ludwig could have laughed.

"Only awesome people cry. They're awesome enough to not be afraid of showing their feelings. It shows they have heart." Gilbert smiled.

"I freaking love you, bro."

"Ich liebe dich auch, bruder."

XXX

For a while, Ludwig would have said things were back to normal. Gilbert seemed happier somehow, and though his moods were more subdued, he was almost like his old self, like the times before Roderich... well, before he...

Gilbert was almost like his old self.

Almost.

Ludwig began noticing small things, like how his brother's smile didn't quite reach as far as it used to— but then again, it was an improvement over not smiling at all. But they still didn't seem genuine. Sometimes Ludwig would catch glimpses of Gilbert when he was alone in the garden, or in the morning over a cup of coffee, when he thought nobody was looking. The albino looked desolate, abandoned, but also extremely pensive. When Ludwig tried to figure out what his brother could be so extremely preoccupied with, he remembered that his brother had died, even if it was for a moment, and a lot could have happened. A few times, he had almost worked up the courage to ask his brother, but decided it would be better to drop the matter.

One absolutely normal Sunday morning, Ludwig walked into the kitchen, expecting to see his brother looking forlorn as ever and nursing a cup of coffee. That was another thing; he didn't drink beer in the morning like he used to. And, he actually woke up early. But today, he wasn't there. Ludwig almost went to wake him up, but decided that it was better that he get his rest. He's been looking tired lately. As he walked up to the fridge, a bright green sticky note on it caught his eye.

 _Luddy,_  
Don't worry, I went for a walk. I'll be back in a while.  
~Gil.

Hmmm, no awesome comments yet. But at least he signed his name with a squiggle. That was... happy, wasn't it? Ludwig sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, still damp from his morning shower. Feliciano was coming over today... he should probably make sure the pasta ingredients were accessible.

XXX

Gilbert knew exactly where he was going as soon as he woke up. He didn't even know why he was going there; the thought of it just resonated through his head. He didn't know what he would find there. It had been a while, and nobody was taking care of the house. Gilbert wondered if the purple flowers were still there. Though he dressed warmly, halfway through the walk, a combination of his anxiety, the exercise, and the bipolar weather of Los Angeles made it too hot for his coat.

When he was a block away, he broke into a run.

He skidded to a halt in front of the house, still not looking at it, and fearing the worst. His chest heaved as he struggled for breath. A few passerby gave him odd looks, but he ignored them. He slowly lifted his head, still panting. The house... looked well-kept. The purple flowers were there, the rosebushes were trimmed, and some freshly planted winter jasmine was in full bloom.

_Freshly... planted...?_

Gilbert ran into the house, slamming the door open frantically. _We've never had winter jasmine in our garden before!_ His mind flashed back to a day before Roderich had died.

_It was Christmas Eve in Los Angeles. Roderich quietly sipped his coffee as he looked out his window at the spectacular city view. The city seemed brighter than usual at this time of night; the city was still bustling with people, making merry during the one day that everyone seemed to get along. He glanced out at his garden, eyes roaming over the arrangement of flowers that he himself had plotted and planted. But, something was... wrong._

" _Gilbert?" he called_

" _Hmm?" the albino peeked out from the kitchen to look at his beloved. "Ja, liebeling?"_

" _The garden. There's something missing..." He frowned, his delicate eyebrows coming together in a slight scowl. Gilbert sat down beside him, gently putting his arms around Roderich._

" _Well, there aren't many flowers that bloom in the winter," he reasoned, nuzzling his face into Roderich's soft locks. Gilbert internally rolled his eyes. Flowers were so... prissy. Buy hey, it's Christmas, might as well go along to make Roderich happy. Said man leaned against him._

" _Hmmm... what about... Winter Jasmine?" said Roderich._

" _What does that look like?"_

" _It's a small yellow bloom... with six little petals," he replied._

" _Hmm, sounds nice. And we don't have any yellow flowers at this time of year._

" _Next year around wintertime, I'm definitely going to plant some."_

" _Ja, you do that." Gilbert smiled at his partner._

It was wintertime again.

There was Winter Jasmine in the front garden.

_What..._

He quietly walked into the house, gently closing the door behind him. He cautiously stepped forward, then froze when he heard sounds from within the house. But not just any sounds.  
Piano music. From the music room, and not just the discordant playing of a fool messing around in an abandoned house. Gilbert rushed forward down the hall, intent on reaching the room in record time, because this was the skilled playing of well-practiced, nimble pianist's fingers; fingers Gilbert knew well.

_Roderich..._

But no, this couldn't be! Roderich was—

Gilbert slammed the door open, heart racing uncontrollably.

Roderich looked up from his place on the piano bench, nonchalantly pushing his glasses up his nose.

"Oh, hello Gilbert. I was wondering where you were this morning. We need milk."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil villain laughter*


	5. Spark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> btw this is old writing (like, 2012 writing) that i'm posting so some of it is cringe. Sorry. Too lazy for heavy editing.

Gilbert stared in open-mouthed shock at the sight before him. There sat Roderich at his piano, acting entirely nonchalant as though the past few months had never happened. And that was when Gilbert knew.

_I have completely lost it._

On impulse, Gilbert pinched himself, hard, and winced in pain as his nails dug into his flesh.

_I'm not dreaming._

He slapped himself just to make sure and staggered back in surprise.

_I'm NOT DREAMING_ _—_

"Gilbert, what's wrong? Why are you hurting yourself?!" Roderich received no reply from the other, who already had tears streaming down his face.

_I'm not... dreaming..._

Roderich came forward and tentatively wrapped his arms around the taller man. Gilbert stiffened at his touch.

"Roderich... you're... you're real?" he asked, voice cracking. Roderich frowned slightly.

"Of course I'm real, Gilbert. Have you been drinki— ah!" that was all the confirmation Gilbert had needed. He pulled his beloved into a warm, tight embrace. Roderich slowly put his arms around him, and tightened his grip when he felt his body wrack with sobs.

"Shh, shh... what's wrong, Gil?"

"You... you really don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Gilbert pulled away a bit in confusion. "You were... well, you were... dead," he finished softly. Roderich frowned in obvious concern.

"I can assure you that I am alive and well. Gil, what is going on?"

But he was at a loss for words.

XXX

He ran all the way to Ludwig's house.

' _I can assure you that I am alive and well...'_

Was it true? Could it possibly be? No... He had seen Roderich dying, seen the look of confusion and then shock on his pale face as the blood spread across his shirt; he had seen his cold eyes, dead, blank, and unseeing; he had even encountered Roderich's spirit when he himself had died. He had gone to the funeral, seen his beloved buried in the ground. How could all that pain be a lie?

' _I'll, uh... I'll go get the milk._ _'_ _He dashed out of the house in a frenzy, wiping the tears from his awesome eyes and leaving a confused Roderich behind._

Gilbert slammed open a door for the second time that day.

"LUDWIG!"

"Wha- oh, guten morgen Bruder. How was your walk?"

"Roderich." The name tasted like honey on his tongue, the three syllables cascaded from his lips and tumbled through the air.

"Uh..." he decided to proceed with relative caution. "Yes... Roderich. What... what about Roderich?"

"H-he... oh gott, Luddy, he..." tears were falling from his face again.

"He's... d-dead" stuttered Ludwig uncertainly. Was his brother just now coming to terms with this? Gilbert's head snapped up and bright ruby eyes bored into his cerulean ones.

"He isn't. He's alive, Bruder!" Ludwig intently searched for an answer in those ruby eyes, like two drops of blood on his brother's face; and he saw something new there, a spark that he hasn't seen in a very long time. There was fire in Gilbert's eyes.

Ludwig almost believed him, but then his memories came crashing down, of Roderich, lying dead on a cold hospital bed, then in a casket, an oddly serene look gracing his delicate features, his face a deathly pale grey. Blood, blood everywhere, and doctors rushing about... then his limp body devoid of all blood, and surrounded by flowers.

_He's gone mad._

"Gilbert... oh Bruder, please..."

"Ve~ Luddy? Oh, hey Gilbert! Did you have a nice walk?" the two brothers' attentions snapped to Feliciano, who was standing in the doorway and whom obviously did not sense the mood, as always. Gilbert put on another of his false smiles, though the kind which required less energy, reserved for those who would not notice such subtle traces of emotion, of lack thereof. _But this time,_ Ludwig noted, _this time, there's something else. There is a spark._

_He has_ _**completely** _ _lost it._

"Yeah, it was great!" Gilbert stretched his arms in an exaggerated fashion, grinning at the younger. He laughed.

"Did you listen to the birds?" Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. "Did you smell the flowers?" His smile dropped, and a flash of something unrecognizable came across his face. He quickly recovered, however, and the young brunette didn't even notice.

"Yep!" he replied cheerily. "Not too many flowers in the winter, but hey, winter here is probably like summer in Sweden!" His voice shook slightly. Feliciano cocked his head inquisitively.

"Why Sweden?" he piped. Gilbert shrugged and scowled slightly. All of a sudden, Feliciano jumped up. "Ve! The pasta will overcook!" he dashed into the kitchen, calling back an apology for leaving so abruptly.

"Damn, he sure is serious about his pasta, huh?"

"Gilbert."

"Aaahhhh, Ludwig, if you marry him, it's pasta every day for you!"

" _Gilbert."_

"Just don't turn into a pansy like him, always crying, and drinking wine instead of beer. Not awesome."

"GILBERT."

"Whaaat?"

"What is this about...Roderich?"

Dead silence.

"Let me show you."


	6. Fierce Angel

Gilbert slammed the door open for the third time that day. Though Feliciano had stayed due to the pasta, Gilbert was able to drag his brother along after much persuasion, though Ludwig was still skeptical and reluctant to concede to his brother's madness. He was also rather unwilling to abandon Feliciano, but his brother's determination was in great supply and interminably relentless. He wasn't quite sure what had brought about this sudden 'revelation' of sorts, even after listening to his demented rambling that the albino supposedly deemed an explanation. All Ludwig could understand was something about the piano, milk, and Winter Jasmine. _What is it with that damn flower?_

Ludwig jumped when Gilbert forcefully slammed the door open, vehemently wishing that his brother could learn to be more graceful. His brother strode into the house with a cocky grin plastered on his face, one that said, _I know I'm right, and you're about to get pwned._ Nevertheless, there was something else in his eyes that said, _Holy crap, what if I'm just insane_? But both emotions ignored each other, seemed to cancel each other out, and they both fizzled slowly into oblivion. By the time they reached the end of the hallway, Gilbert was walking simply just to walk.

"Roderich?" There was no reply. His voice echoed throughout the empty house. "Oi, Roddy, where are you?" Ludwig sighed rather obtrusively. Gilbert turned around and glared at him. Ludwig raised his eyebrow skeptically.

"Don't gimme that look!" he hissed, annoyed with both himself and his brother. Ludwig rolled his eyes defiantly.

As they continued moving through the house, Gilbert began to worry more and more. _Did_ _Roderich walk out, maybe?_ They checked the kitchen _. No, scratch that._ They checked the music room. _Did something happen to him?_ They checked the bedrooms. _Am I really just going insane?_ Even the bathrooms were peeked into, just in case. _Nothing_.

"Gilbert?"

"He must have gone out." He wasn't sure who he was trying to convince.

"Gilbert..."

The young albino was shaking heavily.

"He... stepped out... to get the milk..." Though he wasn't convincing anyone.

"Gilbert..." Ludwig sighed and rubbed his face in frustration. "Gott," he said slowly, "Bruder... Roderich never used to go out without you, or anyone . He would just get lost. Remember? And then you would have to find him..."

"Ludwig, you're still speaking in past tense. And I will find him." A newfound determination coursed through him.

"I _will_ find him, Ludwig!" He headed towards the door. A strong hand gripped his shoulder, but he roughly shook it off and ran out of the house.

"I will! I will, dammit!"

 _Where the hell is he going? He's obviously never going to find him_. Ludwig sighed in frustration. He just hoped his brother would come to his senses soon, and not cause any trouble in the meantime. He shook his head again and began the walk home.

When he and Gilbert were kids, Gilbert would always be taking care of him, despite their parents' loathing towards their first child. Ludwig recalled always wondering what their problem with his brother's appearance was. He always thought he looked a bit like a fierce angel; He found his brother oddly beautiful, with his pale, translucent skin, his bright, snowy white hair, and his bright, violet-crimson eyes, his piercing gaze. He realized that his brother would scare away the bullies on the playground just by being there, and thinking it was just for him, he thought of Gilbert as his fierce guardian angel. However, as time passed, those bullies became used to his older brother's presence, and began to shun him, hate him just for his appearance. They would call him vulgar names. He was a freak show to them.

Ludwig remembered the day he first understood what they were saying to him. He had cried all throughout recess.

He sighed at the memory. He seemed to be doing a lot of sighing lately. He didn't know why he was recalling such a memory. Maybe it was because his brother would protect him, though indirectly at first, but he could never protect him back. He felt as though he never would be able to.

When Gilbert was younger, he was shyer, more withdrawn. Ludwig remembered one day, his brother had been trying to play with him, but he had accidentally hit him, and the blonde haired boy had begun to cry. After all, he was only a toddler. Their parents were furious, and they began to scream and curse at his brother. They kicked him out. Again. Ludwig hated it when they did that, and he remembered thinking that day that it was all his fault. He just had to cry and complain and get Gilbert in trouble. He vowed that night to not cry ever again.

_The next morning, Gilbert didn't return as he normally did, which worried Ludwig greatly. Gilbert always came back. He asked his parents at breakfast; perhaps he had just missed him, and they had banished him to his room or something._

" _Nein, Ludwig. Haltestelle Sorge um ihn_ _,_ _"_ _they answered._ _Stop worrying about him._

_Hours later, Ludwig stood outside to wait, the noonday sun baking his head. His parents were obviously worried he would get burned, or his skin would turn darker from the sun; but the Aryan was unshakable. The young boy sat, immobile, determined to wait for his fierce angel. Though he would never admit it, he was too afraid to go out and look for him, but this was the least he could do. After hours of self-discipline and inner turmoil, he began to fatigue._

_However, just as he was about to give up and go inside, as the sun began to sink below the horizon, he thought he saw a flash of pale, milky skin and a shock of silvery white reflected by the setting sun. He jumped up, adrenaline suddenly pumping through his veins. He briskly walked towards the disturbance; or, waddled with as much dignity as his short legs could give him. For the first time, he realized that he wanted to look good in front of his brother. The shadows lengthened._

_Slowly and shyly, Gilbert peeked out from behind a tree. Ludwig immediately threw himself into his brother's arms, suddenly on the verge of tears. As he blabbered incoherently about how worried he was, he realized that he loved his brother more than anything in the whole world. And from now on, Ludwig would protect_ him _from the bullies._

Though he had been very vague that day, later Ludwig was to learn that was the day that Gilbert met Fritz, and stayed at his place for awhile, as the elder man told stories of his great adventures and fed Gilbert endless pastries. Fritz was like a father to Gilbert.

Ludwig shook himself out of his daze and back to reality. Fritz was dead.

Roderich was dead.

Back to reality.


	7. Roderich

When his eyes opened to a soft light, Roderich somehow knew he was dying.

Everything around him was strange and unfamiliar, yet so comforting and instantly recognizable. His senses numb, he could not tell whether he was engulfed within a thousand screams or whether the loudness pushing against his ears was intense, pressing silence. Through a hazy brain, he distantly recalled gut wrenching pain. Perhaps it was his own, perhaps another's, perhaps a conglomerate of pain from every living or dead thing.

But still, Roderich liked this peace. It was safety.

But as it turns out, fate will always be cruel, and she has decided to cut his string.

His body suddenly jerked forward, and the light rapidly faded. Instead of the muffled clarity of before, Roderich felt simply sluggish and stuck.

 _Oh,_ he thought. _I think I'm dead_.

After a minute or so, there was no doubt it; though the quiet creeping and silent stillness was unnerving, he felt no fear or nervousness in the calming darkness. He could feel it in the way that his consciousness was swimming through opaque, gray water, in the way that it suddenly felt like he was surrounded by unending womb. The sensation set his nerves on fire – it was almost addicting; he felt as if he were surrounded by everything and drowning in nothing at once. An overload of his senses rendering him helpless, powerless against the current that swept him up in gentle embrace. Roderich could easily see himself falling effortlessly into the cold, velvet obscurity around him, blending with the nothingness until he dissolved into minute, infinite particles and atoms.

If only he could spend an eternity in such emptiness, to leave the mortal world, his fallible body and succumb to the drowning. Metaphorically or literally, he did not think too much of it.

He felt the black fingers caressing him, slipping underneath his consciousness, tugging him down into darker and deeper chasms till the heavy walls rose all around him as he willingly liquesced. The sensation of falling into what felt like empty space itself was exceptionally thrilling, as an intense emotion began to fill him completely to the brim, leaving him in an indescribable bliss. He felt himself materialize again slowly in the vacuum of his mind, and was left to stare blankly at the utter nothing ahead of him.

_...It's you._

Roderich felt himself jerking around sharply when he heard the rough, yet clear voice that echoed in the space, but to his relief, the peaceful interruption seamlessly integrated itself into his calm state. Instead, the voice of the tall, silver-haired man that appeared before him had merely slid through the air like a blade through water. Roderich felt the first tendrils of another emotion other than peace creep around. Confusion. Who was this man, who seemed so strange yet so known? What was he doing here, in the private recesses of his mind, heaven, hell…?

The man, who looked so familiar and yet didn't, kept his scarlet eyes trained on Roderich before pulling his thin, wan lips upward just slightly in a melancholic smile. And just like that, it seemed just so natural that the name came to Roderich's mind, appearing before him like clear cut words etched on a tablet.

_Gilbert._

The smile on Gilbert's face became slightly saddened, but not bitter, his eyes turned a shade darker. He clasped his hands behind his back and childishly rocked backwards on his heels, the bleeding red of his eyes contrasting with the shock of white hair so sharply amidst the jet darkness that spots appeared in Roderich's eyes.

_Roderich..._

He did not open his mouth to speak but despite that, his voice rang unmistakably through the space, sliding into the air like silk. The expression on Gilbert's face puzzled Roderich at first. There a sense of resignation, sadness, yet a peace that he couldn't exactly grasp or put a finger on.

A strange question came to his mind - one that had him frowning in worry. He realized he should have asked for confirmation much sooner. It took Roderich a few tries before he could get the question out of his choked throat.

_Does this mean that_ _you'_ _ve died as well?_

Gilbert smiled.

_Death is only but a name._

Roderich's brows drew together in frustration.

_Then am…I dead?_

He paused thoughtfully, and then returned to the question at hand.

_Not unless you want to be._

Roderich was now thoroughly confused. Not unless he wanted to be? Of course he didn't want to die; it meant he wouldn't be living anymore. Death wasn't an option. He would no longer be able to feel the soft warmth of the capricious nighttime breeze. No longer be able to take casual walks with Gilbert under the summer sun, feeling the heat bear down, or the feathery touches of cascading leaves during autumn in their hectic dance to the ground. Never again feel the soothing vibrations of the piano thundering through him, his fingertips pounding upon the keys, releasing boundless energy.

_I don't want to die._

Roderich awoke with a gasp, jolting out of his bed and sputtering for air.

"Wh-what the h-hell was th-that?" He said aloud, shakily. He groped along his bedside table for his glasses, and upon finding them, put them shakily on his face.

"Gilbert, I just had the most horrible nigh-"

He stopped himself mid-sentence. Tears began to form in his eyes.

"This has not been the greatest night..." he muttered. He had taken on the odd habit of talking to himself lately. Ever since Gilbert died.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *more evil villain laughter*


	8. Past Occurrence, New Strength

Gilbert's feet thudded on the pavement, like the beating of a frenzied drum, reverberating through his skull. He had not stopped running since he bolted out of that godforsaken house, and it felt like he never could. He didn't know what to think, what to tell himself – he had felt Roderich, there in the house: heard him, smelt him; but he had also seen him die. Oh, he had seen him die...

 _Gilbert slammed the door open violently, and, upon bounding up the stairs, slipped on the carpet, crashed into the wall, bumped his knee on the banister, and fell straight back down_. God dammit! _But he hadn't let go of the tickets, at least. He collected himself, then called out Roderich's name._

" _Rooooooooddyyyyyyyyyy!"_

" _I told you not to call me that!"_

_Well, not quite. Gilbert somehow succeeded in getting up 'these slippery as hell stairs' and burst into the room with force._

" _Gilbert, you really must learn to be more graceful. All these slamming of doors—"_

" _I have a surprise for you!"_

" _Pardon?" He hoped it wasn't something horribly stupid. He almost shivered when he remembered the last time Gilbert had a 'surprise' for him. Gilbert noticed this, and a grimace crossed his features._

" _It's nothing like the last time!"_

" _Oh, thank god!" he said, rolling his eyes. Gilbert mimicked him, exaggerating it with a dramatic head movement. Even with the confirmation that he wouldn't pull a stunt like the last time, Roderich still braced himself for Gilbert's antics, nonetheless._

" _We're going to a thing!" announced the albino._

" _What_ thing _, Gilbert?" he was already exasperated._

" _A_ thing! _" Gilbert was never good with word when he was nervous._

" _Gilbert, I am serious, just tell me-"_

" _A_ THING _, yanno?"_ Lord, help me...

" _No, I do not-" He was abruptly cut off as two slips of paper were shoved in front of his face._

" _This thing!"_ Can't he ever be romantic?

" _Oh." He peered closely at it. "Oh!" They were tickets to the Los Angeles Philharmonic._

" _You better get ready to rumble specs—those are for tonight!"_

" _Oh my, Gilbert! Thank you!"_ Maybe he can, a little.

_Not forty minutes later, they were finally ready to go. Despite the fact that the LA Phil was not exactly a 'formal' place, Roderich took performances of classical music in any form quite seriously. Gilbert was afraid that they would be laughed at, but Roderich still dressed them both up. Roderich wore a long, buttoned coat that was somewhere between blue and purple—though Gilbert insisted it was Prussian blue. He took even more caution into styling his hair than he normally did, though there was a certain part that refused to stay put, no matter which way he pinned it. It irritated him to no end._

_Gilbert barely had any formal attire, but Roderich somehow dug out an old black suit of his, which he wore with a red oxford. Most of the evening, however, was spent on Gilbert's mess—er, his hair. It was a white frizzy nest perched atop his head. Roderich spent quite a while with Gilbert sitting, slumped, between his legs, as he fought it with a comb. It relentlessly fought back._

_The concert was wonderful, and, to Gilbert's chagrin, many were dressed semi-formally, as they were._

" _What did you expect, T-shirts and jeans?" scolded Roderich. Gilbert simply let out a little 'tch' at being proven wrong. Roderich let out a small laugh. It was the most beautiful music Gilbert had heard all night. He smiled at Roderich as they walked out, arm in arm. Some people gave them strange looks, but, to his relief, nobody was brash enough to voice their opinions on their partnership._

_After some deliberation, they decided to walk over to Grand Park, since it was close by, and it was a lovely evening. They walked hand in hand, basking in the cool night air. They heard the laughter of a young couple in the distance; the cooing of the birds filled the night. The moonlight shone bright, silhouetting the palm trees lining the street, and the branched ones filling the park. The soft wet grass rustled underneath their feet, and their hands were clasped tightly together._

_Sometimes Roderich wished they could actually look at the stars; it irked him that all the pollution of the modern world spoiled something as pure as stargazing. But that evening, they were content with simply being with and holding each other._

_It was getting cold, so they began to walk back to the car. On the way there, they saw a drunken man staggering around on the sidewalk and grumbling to himself darkly. Gilbert didn't trust him. He began to maneuver Roderich to cross the street to walk on the other side._

" _Gilbert, what-"_

" _Just follow me." His voice was hushed and stern, leaving no room for argument. Roderich gave him a quizzical look, but followed nonetheless. Gilbert thought with a sigh that Roderich saw danger in all the wrong places._

_The man caught sight of the pair, and abruptly stopped, staring at them with a sort of confused stare. Gilbert began to walk faster. The man was now walking towards them, and in a slurred voice, he said,_

" _Hey you, faggots!" Roderich was shocked. He began to turn, but Gilbert roughly pulled him back._

" _Ignore it," he hissed. But the man was persistent._

" _Hey, I'm calling you, fucking fairies! Ya think it's cool to be walking around on the streets like fags, huh?"_

 _Gilbert gritted his teeth. The car never seemed so far away. Stupid drunk asshole, terrorizing them._ It had been such a good night before this, too.

_Lost in his thoughts, Gilbert had slowed down a bit, and Roderich hadn't understood the urgency enough to keep up the pace. Gilbert knew that people like that man were irrational and would do anything to get a point across._

Anything _._

" _Hey," said the man gruffly, in Gilbert's ear. His breath reeked of smoke and alcohol. "Where the fuck do you think you're going, princess? Faggots like you shouldn't be allowed in public." Gilbert's eyes widened in terror as the man reached into his pocket. He pushed Roderich away._

" _Run!" he whispered harshly._

" _B-but why—"_

" _Go!" Roderich began to slowly back away, afraid of leaving Gilbert behind. To Gilbert's horror and dismay, the man had a gun. A knife he could've handled, but this was different._

" _Aww, protecting your pretty princess, hmm?" The man raised his gun and pointed it at Roderich, who seemed to finally understand the seriousness of the situation. This man wasn't just another homophobe; he was a violent drunkard who wanted an excuse to shoot._

" _Too baaaad", the man drawled drunkenly._

"NO!"

_Bang._

XXX

Gilbert collapsed on the sidewalk with his head in his hands. _I have to find him..._


	9. The Other Side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sort of the sister chapter to the last.

_The door to the house slammed open violently, startling Roderich out of his reverie. The clanging in the hallway, no doubt made by his annoying partner, made his brow furrow. A louder crash and a disoriented shout informed him that Gilbert had fallen down the stairs. On the way up._ Lord have mercy on the wallpaper...

" _Rooooooooddyyyyyyyyyy!"_

" _I told you not to call me that!" He called back, wincing as yet another thud was heard. He squeaked quietly when Gilbert threw the door open violently. He stood there in the doorway, chest heaving. Roderich rolled his eyes._

" _Gilbert, you really must learn to be more graceful. All these slamming of doors—"_

" _I have a surprise for you!"_

" _Pardon?" He hoped it wasn't something horribly stupid. He almost shivered when he remembered the last time Gilbert had a 'surprise' for him. He noticed Gilbert grimace at his reaction._

" _It's nothing like the last time!"_

" _Oh, thank god!" he said, rolling his eyes. Gilbert mimicked him, exaggerating it with a dramatic head movement. Even with the confirmation that he wouldn't pull a stunt like the last time, Roderich still braced himself for Gilbert's antics, nonetheless._

" _We're going to a thing!" he announced._

" _What_ thing _, Gilbert?" he was already exasperated._

" _A_ thing! _" Gilbert was never good with word when he was nervous._

" _Gilbert, I am serious, just tell me-"_

" _A_ THING _, yanno?"_ Lord, help me...

" _No, I do not-" He was abruptly cut off as two slips of paper were shoved in front of his face._

" _This thing!"_ Can't he ever be romantic?

" _Oh." He peered closely at it. "Oh!" They were tickets to the Los Angeles Philharmonic._

_XXXXXXXXX_

" _It's been a lovely night, Gilbert. Thank you for taking me, and for especially for managing to behave well."_

" _Aww, you underestimate me, babe!" Gilbert flashed a grin that almost made Roderich forget the cold. Almost._

" _I think we should be heading back to the car about now," he admitted. Gilbert nodded in understanding, took his arm, and began to lead him back. Roderich looked at Gilbert's serene face, glad to see it finally completely relaxed. However, it was destined not to last for long. His face instantly hardened, and he pulled Roderich off to the side._

" _Gilbert, what-"_

" _Just follow me." His voice was hushed and stern, leaving no room for argument. Roderich was confused, but followed nonetheless. Gilbert sighed at his lover's perplexed stare, and continued to drag him along. That's when Roderich noticed the drunkard staggering towards them. He looked at the pair, then stopped and gave a confused stare._

That makes two of us.

_Gilbert began to walk faster. The man was now walking towards them, much to Roderich's disgust, and in a slurred voice, he called out the dreaded slur._

_Roderich was shocked. He began to turn, but Gilbert roughly pulled him back._

" _Ignore it," he hissed. But the man was persistent. Roderich half wanted the man to catch up, so that he could tell him how rude he was being. When he did, Roderich was about to open his mouth when Gilbert panicked and pushed Roderich away._

" _Run!" he whispered harshly._

" _B-but why—"_

_And then he caught sight of the gun._

" _Go!" Gilbert cried desperately. Roderich began to slowly back away, afraid of leaving Gilbert behind._

_The man raised his gun and pointed it at Gilbert, and Roderich seemed to finally understand the seriousness of the situation. This man wasn't just another homophobe; he was a violent drunkard who wanted an excuse to shoot._

"NO!" cried Roderich. "GILBERT, PLEASE!"

_Bang._

Roderich awoke with a jolt, eyes wide, breath heavy, and body covered in a cold sweat. He lay there for a moment, calming his heart and staring up into the canopy of his bed. The cold moonlight filtered through the sheer curtains at the open window as they blew into the room. Roderich got up slowly and rubbed his face, groping for his glasses. He put them on and read the clock. _4:53_. He groaned and fell back on the covers. He hated having nightmares. He could never remember anything about them, but they all ended the same way: with Gilbert's death, and sometimes, his own, though he never understood why. For the longest time, he had tried telling Gilbert about them upon waking up, forgetting that he couldn't, and never would be able to again. There was no way he could go back to sleep now _. I can't go on like this..._ he thought, looking at the empty space beside him. _There's no way._


	10. Nobody

After Gilbert's death, Roderich went through a quietly violent period of grieving. He continued to compose, but his symphonies were all in minor key. He locked himself in his home, which wasn't quite out of the ordinary, but always kept the curtains drawn, which was. After the funeral, he retreated within himself and his piano room, refusing to let anyone into his life. The only people whom he was in contact with at all were the people who delivered his groceries and the mailman. The person who worried about his health the most was, surprisingly, Feliciano. Ludwig reasoned that Roderich was strong enough to get through it himself, and just needed some alone time. Feliciano had known Roderich for a very long time, longer than Ludwig, and had never seen him at the edge like this. He worried for his safety, not from others, but from the darkness within himself.

Roderich was a strong man who never had a reason to grieve so intensely, and thus was a man who formed deep emotional attachments because he had never had a fear of loss. Feliciano, of all people, understood this more intensely because of a loss he had when he was younger that Roderich helped him through.

He had tried to warn everybody that it was bound to happen sometime, and that they needed to check on him. However, he never quite wanted to explain what "it" was, and nobody took him seriously. He always talked to the mailman just to make sure that Roderich was well enough to receive his post, and sometimes listened at the window to see if he could hear Roderich composing his depressing piano pieces. Feliciano sometimes joked with himself that Roderich was "decomposing" rather than "composing", but that made him sad and he had to stop himself.

Then Feliciano was gone for a couple of weeks on a summer trip to Italy. Little did he know, Roderich knew he was being watched the entire time, and found it reassuring. With Feliciano's comforting enigmatic presence gone, Roderich fell into a deeper depression. He believed that even Feliciano, his lifelong friend, had abandoned him. He believed that nobody cared for him anymore.

When Feliciano came back, Roderich's mailbox was full.

When he finally convinced Ludwig that something was wrong, and Ludwig broke into the house, it was much too late.

Roderich was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ew what a short chapter


	11. Lilac

Gilbert searched everywhere. He ran from the house up in the hills to Downtown LA, where Roderich would never be anyway because the streets were crowded, small, and closed in. He tried his best to ignore the strange looks, the deadly sunburn on his neck he knew was developing, his aching lungs, and his tired feet. He checked every museum, library, park, and concert hall on the way, and at ten in the evening he found himself at Santa Monica Pier. He finally slowed down as he walked across the huge pier, passing the carnival rides and finding himself at the very end, looking out at the black, vast ocean. _Roderich would never come here. He's scared of the ocean_ , thought Gilbert. _And for good reason_. During the day, it was a vast, dizzying expanse that shot out into the horizon and filled your vision with nothing but deep, cold, frothy water. At night, it was simply disorienting, disconcerting to see a huge, black, still pool that blended with the horizon and made it hard to tell where the ocean ended and the sky began. _It almost feels like the world is upside down._ Gilbert shook his head and looked away, facing the almost empty pier. It was late. He wondered if the buses were still running as he walked back up the pier.

A strange vibration from somewhere on his body startled him for a moment before he realized his phone was ringing. He'd been ignoring it the entire day. He pulled the phone out of his pocket and saw a picture of Ludwig, unaware that his picture had been taking, and looking very exasperated at something to his left. Along with it were the words "Big Baby Brother Nerd Ludwig". He stared at the screen and bit his lip, wondering if he should answer or not. It stopped ringing. His lock screen displayed 46 missed calls, seven voicemails, and 16 texts from Ludwig. He decided to call back. Ludwig picked up on the first ring.

"Gilbert?!"

"Yeah, I'm here."

"Mein gott, thank goodness you're alright. Where are you?"

"Santa Monica Pier," he said slowly.

"You went all that way?" Gilbert heard a sigh from the other end. "Don't move, I'm going to pick you up." Dial tone. Gilbert contented himself with sitting on a sidewalk corner just past the pier. He began to think of his original purpose for going all this way. Even a few blocks down from the house, it had started to seem pointless. Maybe he had imagined everything, maybe his mind was fabricating it as a way to cope. Roderich wouldn't suddenly step out, would he? He'd be used to Gilbert acting strangely and wouldn't worry too much. But Gilbert saw the little white flowers in front of the house when he brought Ludwig in. And somehow, the thought of those little white flowers kept him going. He sure got a workout today.

He sighed and dropped his head, exhausted. He had barely drank any water throughout the day, only stopping at Central Library for a drink before setting out again, and he hadn't eaten since cereal at breakfast. It would do no good to hurt his body now. He was still recovering from the fall. He grimaced thinking about the pain, and then thought back on his encounter with Roderich. He had seen him face to face, and Roderich told him he was dead. So how did he see him, touch him, at the house just earlier? It seemed like a lifetime ago. Gilbert wracked his brains for an explanation. Even if he really hadn't seen Roderich, he knew the flowers were there, since he saw them both times. Maybe he would ask Ludwig if he had seen them as well. _Speak of the devil._

Ludwig's white Volkswagen pulled up to the curb, and the window rolled down to reveal, to Gilbert's shock, Feliciano at the wheel, and Ludwig riding shotgun. _No wonder they got here so fast._ Ludwig climbed out and stood in front of Gilbert, who picked himself up off the ground and was immediately enveloped by a bone crushing hug.

"I was so worried! Don't you ever run off like that again!" said Ludwig into his shoulder. Gilbert pushed him off playfully.

"You're not my damn mom, Lud," he said, a hint of a smile on his features. "But seriously. You don't have to worry about your big bro, he'll be just fine." Gilbert reached up to ruffle Ludwig's perfect blond hair, and the younger ducked out of his touch and wrestled him to the car. Feliciano smiled sincerely at the brotherly fighting, and as soon as the door slammed shut, he put the car in reverse so abruptly that both brothers fell back against the seat, hard.

"Gah! Be careful, Feli!"

"Don't worry, I know how to drive!"

"Yeah, why the hell is he driving anyway? I thought you wanted to keep me safe, Ludwig!"

"Shut up! He insisted! And we got here faster that way, so you didn't have to freeze your ass on the pavement!"

"Just so we can bust our asses in the back of the car!"

"I know how to drive!" said Feliciano, speeding off into the night as the two brothers bickered about nothing.

_XXX_

"Hey Roderich! Sorry I'm late!" exclaimed Feliciano in the doorway, setting the bag down. The noonday sun filtered through the sheer curtains, and a light breeze ruffled freshly marked music sheets atop the piano. Roderich sat on the loveseat to the left of the piano, looking out the window and nursing a cup of tea.

"Yes, come in, Feliciano," said Roderich quietly. He looked at Feliciano as he walked into the room, and set his cup down. Feliciano came to sit next to him quietly, sensing Roderich's mood, for once. Roderich faced the window again. A long silence ensued. Feliciano began to fidget quietly. "Why did it fail?" asked Roderich quietly.

"I'm... not sure," replied Feliciano. The whole thing had made him uneasy. "Maybe he wasn't completely convinced?" Roderich turned to him.

"I was standing right in front of him, calling him, Feliciano. But he kept searching the house like a madman!"

"Well, he sure saw you the first time."

"And I did what you said, I acted normal."

"Yeah, and that's always better than pretending to be a ghost or something freaky like that. Which is kind of true, but that'll freak him out even more. But when he came to the house, I heard him talking to Luddy, and he sounded really convinced! I think maybe his brother made him doubt himself... which I'm sure he didn't mean to do! I mean, it is kinda far-fetched to them." Roderich huffed in response.

"When do you think he'll come back? Should I leave a sign or something?" Roderich faced Feliciano, desperate.

"Well, I can't reveal myself, that would be super risky. And every time people ask me to be 'subtle', something goes wrong."

"Well, you're right about that. But you've done pretty well so far in keeping your..." Roderich struggled to find the right word. "...Abilities, a secret.

"Well, I'll figure something out for you, Roddy! I promise!" Roderich smiled warmly.

"Thank you, Feliciano. Also, did you bring what I asked you to?"

"Yes!" Feliciano bounded into the hallway to retrieve the small paper bag, setting it on the couch between them as he settled down again. "Are these the right ones?" In his hand were Lilac seed packets.


	12. Feliciano

_A few years ago_

"It's hopeless! I can't do it anymore, Lovino!"

"Feliciano, wait!" Lovino had never seen his little brother this angry, this _desperate_. He had always been a cheerful child, but a few months ago he had started acting strange. He tried to make him talk, but Feliciano would scowl and lock himself in his room or the bathroom. Then, Lovino began noticing the scars.

"Feliciano, please!" The younger paid no mind and slammed the bathroom door closed.

"Leave me alone!" came the muffled reply. Lovino sighed and slumped against the door, listening closely. He heard only sobs and sniffles for a while. Then, came the unmistakable rattle of the pill bottle. Lovino perked up, concerned. The faucet ran and the rattle continued. _Oh, god..._

"Feliciano, open up!" He pounded desperately on the door.

"Wow, now all of a sudden, you care? After all this time? Is this what I have to do to get you to care about me?"

"Feliciano! Please! Open the goddamned door!"

"You're always telling me what to do! Shut up!"

" _Please_ Feliciano!" Silence met him. "FELI!"

Another rattle. He tugged on the doorknob harshly, hoping it would come off. "Please, Feli! _Please_!"

"Stop... telling me..." his brother slurred on the other side.

"Shit! Fuck fuck _fuck_!" Lovino ran across the house and skidded to a halt in front of the kitchen telephone.

" _911, what is your emergency?"_

"My brother's trying to fucking kill himself!" It all seemed so unreal. "He's really doing it, I swear to god this is real, he's taking pills and shit, and he won't let me in, oh my god Jesus fuck"

" _Please calm down sir. I need you to give me your address, alright?_ " He quickly recited it.

" _Alright, there will be an ambulance there in a very short time, I promise. Can you check on your brother?"_

"Okay, okay, shit..." He ran back to the bathroom and slammed on the door. "Feli! I'm calling a fucking ambulance! Stop this!"

No answer.

"Feli?"

Silence.

"Feliciano? FELICIANO?" He slammed on the door desperately. "GOD FUCKING DAMMIT DON'T DO THIS!"

He heard sirens outside his house and a harsh knock sounded. He threw the phone to the ground and sprinted to the front door, slamming it open. A firefighter and a medic rushed in, saw Lovino's teary face and the path of destruction leading down the hallway to the bathroom, and rushed inside. The firefighter kicked the door open to reveal Feliciano's fragile form on the bathroom floor. His arms and legs were bleeding from deep slashes. Water was all over the floor, overflowing from the still running sink. Several empty pill bottles littered the counter and the ground next to him. They quickly put him on a stretcher and carried him out, Lovino not far behind.

"Oh god, oh _god,_ fuck, shit..."

"Are you his brother? You placed the call?"

"Yes that's my fucking brother, oh crap is he _alive_?"

"Just barely, but still alive. Hang in there."

They loaded them in the back of the ambulance where several EMT's tried to stop the bleeding. The ride to the hospital was a short one, and Feliciano was immediately taken into the hospital.

"Lovino, was it? I'm sorry, but you'll have to step out of the room a moment."

He nodded in shock. Before the door closed, he heard doctors shouting about induced vomiting and gastric lavage.

_Feliciano. Why?_

_beeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep._


	13. Crossing Over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Crossing Over" aka "Feliciano what the Fuck"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything is confusing

_Feliciano felt stuck. Like he knew deep down he had to go somewhere important very quickly, but he wasn't allowed to._

By whom? What's holding me back?

_He struggled to take a breath in the molasses air. His lungs felt rock solid, like the rest of his body. His entire form began to quiver, as if he was powering up, forcing all his energy to the surface so he could shatter the pressure crushing him._

_Then, all at once, his atmosphere released and he saw light again. His entire body was jerked forward violently and he felt himself passing through what felt like ice-cold water. He gasped at the shocking sensations, wondering why everything was happening so quickly. He looked behind him and saw... himself._

_Open cuts on his arms and legs revealed no blood, but raw flesh under the torn skin. His usually bright eyes were forlorn and sunken deep into his skull. His hair was long and unkempt._ Is this what I've become?

He... he would hate to see me like this.

_Feliciano cried, but no tears fell._

He blinked his eyes open. It seemed too easy, the way he just woke up, as if nothing had happened; as if he had closed his eyes for a moment to imagine some far-off fantasy, and had just snapped back to the real world.

The pain hit a moment later, and his awakening no longer seemed ideal. He tried to move his arm and let out a small cry when his still fragile wounds shifted and tore. He'd always had sensitive skin. He looked around him. _Hospital room_ , as expected. It was nine o clock, on the dot. _How convenient_. Those were the hospital visiting hours. He would know.

The door opened slowly and Lovino came in, looking expectant, but ready for disappointment. When he saw Feliciano with his eyes open and a weak smile on his face, he stood in the doorway, shocked.

"...Feli?"

"Lovino!" he replied hoarsely. "It's me!" Feliciano's smile grew.

"Oh god! Feliciano! Crap!" He rushed forward to embrace his younger brother, carefully to not irritate his wounds. Feliciano couldn't even lift his arms.

Feliciano smiled, but he felt warm tears on his face that were not his brother's.

* * *

YEARS LATER

"You seem very troubled. Could you tell me why?"

Feliciano fidgeted uncomfortably and eyed the shrink. He knew she meant well, but the only person who knew about this was his brother. He felt almost like he was betraying him by coming here. _Look, you brought this on yourself. Just relax._

"Don't worry, everything is confidential here." _Well, she can read my mind anyway._

"Well... I have this weird memory problem that began a few years ago." He lowered his eyes. An awkward pause ensued.

"A memory problem? Please, elaborate."

"I, well, I guess I kind of... don't remember stuff, or I do remember stuff, but it's not like I forget birthdays and stuff, actually I remember them too much and that's kind of the problem." The shrink looked thoroughly confused. "Well, what I guess I'm trying to say is that... I don't remember things the same way other people do. Like, I remember things, but then people tell me they never happened, and then the next day they suddenly remember, but most of the time they don't, and they act like I made it up but I know I didn't! And other times I don't remember stuff at all, and it seems like two slightly different versions of everything happen to me all the time. It's really weird; I don't know what's wrong with me. Could it be that they're just messing with me? I don't think so, I mean, the only person I've ever really said anything about it to is my brother because he's the only one who doesn't chalk it up to me being stupid. Everyone always thinks I'm stupid and it sucks. They say, 'oh Feli, stop being dumb, that never happened' but I bet if it were other people they would care about it and not just insult my intelligence!"

"When did this start?"

"Ever since I was a kid..."

"No, the memory problem."

"Oh. Well, I'm pretty sure it started when I was like, twelve, but that doesn't..." he suddenly realized something.

"What happened when you were twelve?"

"Oh, that was the year I... died." his earlier monologue was fiery and passionate, but at the end of his last statement, his voice was nearly inaudible. Still, the shrink understood.

"Died how? Not physically, since you're still here and talking to me, right?"

"Yeah, actually. Physically, I mean. But I guess I woke up or something. They said it was a coma but I'm pretty sure I died," Feliciano continued softly.

"How did you die?" the room became dead silent. Feliciano took a shaky breath.

"By my own hand."

"Well, you must be tough if you survived such an ordeal."

"But... I don't think I did... it was weird."

"Do you think maybe you began creating false memories as a way to cope, somehow? To compensate for the time you lost when you were dead, or depressed?"

"No, that's not it at all." The conversation came to a temporary halt.

"Would you mind telling me why you became suicidal?"

"Someone very dear to me went missing. We searched for months and never found them. I was very sad, of course, for the first six months. I was convincing myself that they had died. Then, I started becoming hopeful. For the next few months, I renewed the search and I tried desperately to find them.

Then, we finally got a lead. Someone had heard them shouting for help, so we figured he got kidnapped."

"He?"

"Yeah. So we went to the house, with the police and everything... and they broke in..." he seemed to be lost in memories.

"And they found him. Tied up, a-and..." tears welled up in Feliciano's eyes. "I c-can't. It's too horrible."

"You don't have to tell me the rest."

"I want to! It's just... s-so horrible." He hiccuped and took a shaky breath. It took him a moment to collect himself, and when he did continue he did so in monotone, completely detached from his emotions.

"He was tied up and being raped when we came in. He was screaming for help, and we heard it when we kicked down the door. Several other young boys were in the room. When he saw the police, he took out a huge gun. He killed two policemen, and I quickly ran for cover. I heard seven more gunshots. One was the last police officer in the doorway. Four were for the young boys. One was for Ludwig, and the last one was for himself.

I stayed behind the wall for a very long time, until I got the courage to look in. He shot all of them, including himself, straight through the head." He took a deep breath. The shrink had heard and seen a hell of a lot, but it was still shocking. Feliciano's face slowly twisted in emotion.

"It was horrible."

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I hope Lovino doesn't find you because he'll probably think I'm a wimp. I got you because something really sad happened. One of my dearest friends died a week ago. Except, he and his husband both died, but it's either one or the other. It's really weird, but I think I have it figured out. I guess I'll start from the beginning._

_When I was twelve I tried to kill myself, and I succeeded. I know I don't belong here. I know I should be dead. But, I somehow came back, and all this other stuff along with that gave me a theory about two different worlds._

_Oh, Lovino is home! I'll continue later. Goodnight, little book! I think I'll call you Sampson._

_Dear Sampson,_

_I'm back! Well, like I was saying, I think there are two worlds, like parallel universes, sort of. When I died, I saw something really weird. I felt really stuck, and it felt like nothing, and I couldn't move at all. It might have been bright but I couldn't tell. Then, I went forward really fast and I turned around and saw my own body! But it wasn't like my soul was looking at my body; it was more like there were two of me, and I was looking at myself in two directions, and it was really confusing, like having a clone that thinks exactly like me. And ever since I died, little things happen differently in these two worlds, but I can see both of them at the same time. So I think I died in both worlds at the same time, and my soul switched sides or something._

_So then Gilbert and Roderich died. Usually the things are small, but this one was really huge so now I know for sure. In one world Roddy died, and in the other one, Gil. So I guess I'll call the first one Gilbert's world in which Roderich died, and the second one Roderich's world in which Gilbert died. I'm naming it after the survivor to make it less depressing._

_But if I'm right about my soul crossing over, then doesn't that mean that their souls did too? So technically there would be two Gilberts in Gilbert's world, and the same with Roderich. I don't really know now. Roderich is slightly more unstable, so I think I'll visit him more often than Gilbert._

_But anyway, I have to do some work. I'll write again soon!_

_Dear Sampson,_

_Roderich just died again, and Gilbert is in the hospital. How could so much misfortune befall a single couple? Why did this have to happen to them? It isn't fair! They already died once, and now it's happening again?_

_Roderich killed himself in front of his piano. I know I could have stopped him. I saw the signs that I knew all too well, in both of them! But something told me to leave it alone. I hate leaving my friends like that. I hate it so much. But now, I think they have a chance at being together again. I know it sounds weird, but I have a theory, and I'm also kind of figuring it out as I go. So, here it is._

_When the suicides happened, they both died around the same time, but Roderich went first. Gilbert told me that he saw Roderich when he died, and that must have been the wandering spirit in Roderich's world, which was originally from Gilbert's, and he was only with him for a while before he was revived. Then, since Roderich from Roderich's world succeeded in killing himself, his soul passed over to Gilbert's. Then Gilbert's wandering soul bonded with the Gilbert of the flesh because of his near death experience. So there are three souls in Gilbert's world: two in Gilbert, and one that was Roderich's from the other world. That other world has only one spirit, the Roderich that Gilbert met when he died, and the one that he watched die._

_And it's just a hunch, but I think that I could somehow get that singular soul to pass over, Roderich will revive again, and they'll be happy, at least in this world._

_But we're running out of time._


	14. Dawn

_Roderich took a deep breath and steadied his nerves at the sound of applause. His apprehension for this very moment climaxed. His hands trembled but he willed them to still, his heart fluttering nervously as he walked out on to the stage. Immediately, bright light assaulted him. The piano stood in the centre of the spotlight, gleaming majestically. Its ivory keys entranced him, and he became oblivious to his surroundings in that moment. All that mattered was that masterpiece of uniform black and white. He approached the piano, finally, and the crowd drew a breath. They were watching the young virtuoso Roderich Edelstein at his largest performance yet. At the tender age of seven, and already such a master, he was dubbed the next Mozart. People attributed his skills to diligent practice, to natural born talent, or to supernatural means, but no one disputed his skill on the piano. Those that regarded him jealously or with contempt hoped he would have no skill with the crowd._

_Roderich settled gently on the bench. Someone in the crowd coughed. He looked up at the music sheets in front of him; a piece he had worked on tirelessly for this performance for the last few months. He wished for more time to improve it, because it seemed too stiff, but the performance dawned, and this was_ it _: he was here._

_He stared at the notes, little blots on the stark white paper. Somehow, the scripted quality of the piece didn't seem right to him. He tried to placate himself with little success. The crowd was growing impatient. Suddenly, he grabbed the piece and threw it aside. The audience gasped as the pieces of paper fluttered to the ground. What was this? Simply drama, an act of rebellion, what?_

_Then Roderich began to play. He started out slowly at first, as though testing the keys. His fingertips caressed the keys lovingly. Then, he began to_ play _. He pounded on the keys with a sudden fury and passion that made him seem almost intimidating. The furious piece was coloured with the occasional somber tone, peppered with pieces of calm, lilting melodies that were harshly but seamlessly interrupted by low, dark notes in abundance, and not an erroneous note to be heard. It was flawless and passionate, and it seemed to go on forever._

 _When he finally ended his extemporaneous piece, panting and sweating, he was met with uproarious applause. The entire crowd stood almost simultaneously and the outburst was so deafening it almost startled Roderich off his seat. He shakily got up and faced the crowd through the light. They were all cheering his name, and whistling and clapping, and his small body became filled with the joy of being so appreciated by so many. This was it! This was his moment of glory. He basked in the light, he bowed low, he smiled more than he had in his entire life,_ and he woke up _._

Feliciano's eyes snapped open and he sat up and gasped like someone who had almost been drowned. Pungent sweat poured down his face and his clammy hands shook, smelling of human fear. His heart pounded in his chest and he felt himself being dragged across the divide over and over again. His innocent brain was assaulted with grisly images and wonderful images, intense love that was not his, vice that was not his, images of things that never happened, things that could have been, and dreams long forgotten. He grasped on to the sheets and wrung them in his hands, willing himself to breathe but finding he couldn't. He realized it was because he was screaming. He sat there for what felt like hours, pushing the unwanted memories away. He knew it was a consequence of being exposed to the shift in continuity; or, a consequence of _being_ the shift. He had been receiving these in small amounts ever since his fiasco years ago, but it was never this strong.

He finally moved, to look at the time. 6:15. It was almost morning anyway. He sighed and plopped back down on the sheets, throwing his phone aside. He looked to the side at his window. Almost translucent curtains softly filtered the strange light of _mattina_ , the dark time just before dawn. He stared at the blank sky and thought to himself. _I gotta find a way to cross Roddy over... he's so sad nowadays. Gil has been a bit better but he's still a secluded mess..._ Feliciano shifted onto his back. _There's no way to kill him. He's already dead, just a wandering soul... and persuading him hasn't worked at all! Besides, it's not like there's a_ real _body that both of the wanderers could inhabit permanently... ugh! Unless..._

Then it dawned on him. Soft pink light embraced his still form. He lay there with his mouth gaping and his eyes wide, shocked by his own revelation. _...Could it work?_ Was his connection with the continuity that versatile?

It would, and he knew it, but was he really ready to make that choice? Could his altruism extend that far? He would have to plan very carefully. It was the type of scheme that required prudence that he did not have, but he didn't give that much thought.


End file.
